man, a man who for many years had
taken a conspicuous part in the politics of the City; a man not
destitute of the powers of utterance, and a man of sound principles
also. But a man so enveloped, so completely swallowed up by
self-conceit, who, though perfectly illiterate, though unable to give to
three consecutive sentences a grammatical construction, seemed to look
upon himself as the first orator, the first writer, and the first
statesman of the whole world. He had long been the cock of the
Democratic party in the City; he was a great speech-maker; could make
very free with facts, and when it suited his purpose could resort to as
foul play as most men." According to Cobbett, who grows more than
usually virulent on the occasion, Waithman, vexed that Alderman Wood had
been the first to propose an address of condolence to the Princess at
the Common Council, opposed it, and was defeated. As Cobbett says, "He
then checked himself, endeavoured to recover his ground, floundered
about got some applause by talking about rotten boroughs and
parliamentary reform. But all in vain. Then rose cries of 'No, no! the
address--the address!' which appear to have stung him to the quick. His
face, which was none of the whitest, assumed a ten times darker die. His
look was furious, while he uttered the words, 'I am sorry that my
well-weighed opinions are in opposition to the general sentiment so
hastily adopted; but I hope the Livery will consider the necessity of
preserving its character for purity and wisdom.'" On the appointed day
the Princess was presented with the address, to the delight of the more
zealous Radicals. The procession of more than one hundred carriages came
back past Carlton House on their return from Kensington, the people
groaning and hissing to torment the Regent.

[Illustration: GROUP AT HARDHAM'S TOBACCO SHOP (_see page 69_).]

Brasbridge, the Tory silversmith of Fleet Street, writes very
contemptuously in his autobiography of Waithman. Sneering at his boast
of reading, he says: "I own my curiosity was a little excited to know
when and where he began his studies. It could not be in his shop in
Fleet Market, for there he was too busily employed in attending to the
fishwomen and other ladies connected with the business of the market.
Nor could it be at the corner of Fleet Street, where he was always no
less assiduously engaged in ticketing his super-super calicoes at two
and two pence, and cutting them off for two a